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Page 12
"It is so queer, papa. I don't think those monkeys were very bright."
"Monks, my child."
"O, I thought you said monkeys."
"No, monks are men--Catholics."
"Well, if they were men, I should think they'd know a wolf couldn't say
his prayers. But I s'pose it isn't true."
"No, indeed. It is a fable, written to show that it is of no use to
expect people to do things which they have not the power to do. The wolf
could catch lambs, but he could not learn his letters. So my little
Alice can dress dollies, but she does not know how to take care of
babies."
"O, papa, I didn't choke him _very_ much."
"I was only telling you I do not think you at all to blame. Little girls
like you are not expected to have judgment like grown women. If you only
do the best you know how, it is all that should be required of you."
Dotty's face emerged from the cloud. She looked away down the aisle at
Mrs. Lovejoy, who was patting the uninteresting baby to sleep.
"Well," thought she, her self-esteem reviving, "I wish that woman only
could know I wasn't to blame! I don't believe _she_ could have take care
of that baby when she was six years old."
"Here we are at Boston," said Mr. Parlin. "Is your hat tied on? Keep
close to me, and don't be afraid of the crowd."
Dotty was not in the least afraid. She was not like Prudy, who, on the
same journey, had clung tremblingly to her father at every change of
cars. In Dotty's case there was more danger of her being reckless than
too timid.
They went to a hotel. Mr. Parlin's business would detain him an hour or
two, he said; after that he would take his little daughter to walk on
the Common; and next morning, bright and early, they would proceed on
their journey.
It was the first time Dotty had ever dined at a public house. A bill of
fare was something entirely new to her. She wondered how it happened
that the Boston printers knew what the people in that hotel were about
to have for dinner.
Mr. Parlin looked with amusement at the demure little lady beside him.
Not a sign of curiosity did she betray, except to gaze around her with
keen eyes, which saw everything, even to the pattern of the napkins.
Some time she would have questions to ask, but not now.
"And what would you like for dinner, Alice?"
Mr. Parlin said this as they were sipping their soup. Dotty glanced at
the small table before them, which offered scarcely anything but
salt-cellars and castors, and then at the paper her father held in his
hand. She was about to reply that she would wait till the table was
ready; but as there was one man seated opposite her, and another
standing at the back of her chair, she merely said,--
"I don't know, papa."
"A-la-mode beef; fricasseed chicken; Calcutta curry," read her
mischievous father from the bill, as fast as he could read; "macaroni;
salsify; flummery; sirup of cream. You see it is hard to make a choice,
dear. Escaloped oysters; pigeon pie postponed."
"I'll take some of that, papa," broke in Dotty.
"What, dear?"
"Some of the pigeon pie 'sponed," answered Dotty, in a low voice,
determined to come to a decision of some sort. It was not likely to make
much difference what she should choose, when everything was alike
wonderful and strange.
"Pigeon pie postponed," said Mr. Parlin to the man at the back of
Dotty's chair; "turkey with oysters for me."
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